


The Fig Tree

by KariHigada, NoteInABottle



Series: Shizaya - Age Difference [1]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: M/M, Murder, Policeman!Shizuo, Priest!Izaya, Religious Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 12:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KariHigada/pseuds/KariHigada, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoteInABottle/pseuds/NoteInABottle
Summary: “What’s your name?” Izaya asked.“Shizuo Heiwajima.”That got a smile out of the priest. “A fitting name for a protector of peace.” He reached out and touched Shizuo briefly on his forehead, two fingers, just the brush of fingertips, a traditional gesture of blessing. “Thank you for all that you do for this city.”





	The Fig Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Writer: NoteInABottle
> 
> Idea-that-instantly-infected-the-writer/Editor: KariHigada

_I saw myself sitting in the crotch of a large fig tree. _

_From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. _

_I sat there, starving to death, for I could not make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. _

_I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest.”_

\- The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath

The man at the altar looked unlike any priest Shizuo had ever seen.

For one, he looked far too young, in his early to mid twenties. He was a good few years Shizuo’s junior, with a boyish smile and deep red eyes, pale skin and rail-thin fingers clasped together in prayer. Shizuo wouldn’t have thought of him as a priest, by appearances alone.

Shizuo waited patiently for the sermon to finish, hanging around awkwardly in the back of the church, and cast his eyes about for anything else to look at.

He tugged at his coat pocket, and considered pulling out a smoke but decided against it. Whether he liked it or not, he was on holy ground.

He was standing inside a massive cathedral, one of the first and oldest holy buildings in Ikebukuro. The columns that reached up several hundred feet overhead, arching into a huge open ceiling with glass windows and inset carvings. This church had been made to feel like you were standing under a massive overturned boat, or inside a massive stone flower.

The people here took their religion seriously. This was a holy city, some said, pointing out the vast number of temples and cathedrals consecrated for religious purposes, pointing out the highly pious population and their strict customs. This was the city closest to God.

Except, last night, a murder had taken place here.

Shizuo had been assigned to scope the place out and investigate matters. He didn’t like it - being sent into a crowded place with no information and no idea what he was looking for, but that was the job.

At last, people started to leave. Shizuo jerked in surprise as someone touched his elbow.

“Officer?” a young voice said, smooth and amused. “May I help you?”

The speaker was the priest, now done with his sermon, looking up at him with those unsettling eyes. Shizuo cleared his throat hurriedly and presented his papers, explaining his situation.

“If you don’t mind,” he asked. “Could I take a look around this building?”

The priest shook his head slowly, his smile fading. “I don’t mind at all. I can give you a tour if you’d like.”

“Oh, you don’t need to - ”

“I insist.”

Shizuo was gently but firmly escorted deeper into the cathedral. A thoughtful look appeared on the priest’s face.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Shizuo Heiwajima.”

That got a smile out of the priest. “A fitting name for a protector of peace.” He reached out and touched Shizuo briefly on his forehead, two fingers, just the brush of fingertips, a traditional gesture of blessing. “Thank you for all that you do for this city.”

Shizuo was more than a little taken aback. Before he could recover, however, the priest turned and beckoned for him to follow.

He was led through a small door in the front of the church, through a hallway that clearly led to a more private place in the building, the place where the priests here lived and cooked and went about their daily lives, and did whatever they did when they weren’t giving sermons.

Shizuo followed behind the priest, trying not to get lost in this labyrinthine maze of a building. “And what’s your name, Father-?” Shizuo asked, trying to be polite.

“Just Izaya. Izaya Orihara,” the priest said, turning back to him with another one of those smiles. Shizuo blinked. That had _not _been - priests didn’t smile that way, sultry and inviting. They were usually, in Shizuo’s experience, old men with stern faces and loud voices, rigid as if their doctrine had seeped into their bones somehow and become a part of them.

As they went through the building, Izaya explained what everything was and how it functioned. Here was the kitchen, where the priests made their own meals - usually out of vegetables grown in their own garden. Here was the library, one of many, open to the public on weekdays and where teachers often taught lessons free of charge.

“How many people live here?” Shizuo asked, out of curiosity. He really should be taking notes, but he didn’t want to make the priest - Izaya - feel like he was being interrogated. Instead, he looked around, at this simple but well-furnished building, and tried to commit it all to memory.

“Around fifty,” Izaya replied easily, leading him down another turn.

“That many?”

Izaya smiled a bit sadly. “Most of them are children,” he explained. “Orphans, given up by their families. We raise them here, we have more than enough space, and give them an education. When they reach eighteen, they can choose to either leave and live in the city, or put on the white.”

“Become a priest?”

Izaya nodded.

Shizuo finally took a long look at Izaya - he was about a head shorter than Shizuo, but still taller than average. He wore dark robes that went all the way down to the smooth stone floors, made out of some thick and luxurious material, edged with white hems with gold thread and delicate needlework. Priests were also supposed to make their own clothes - it was part of their religion to never touch coin unless absolutely necessary. The white collar around his neck was broken up by a silver-chain necklace, one carrying a silver cross dangling at the end.

“Would you like to see our garden?” Izaya asked, and before Shizuo could react, he took Shizuo’s hand and pulled him down another hallway. His fingers were slightly cool, and thin, but they held onto Shizuo with a surprisingly firm grip. “We grow more than just vegetables,” he said. “We grow our own flowers too, for services like weddings and funerals. You should see them!”

It seemed as if he had entirely forgotten the purpose of Shizuo’s visit. Shizuo let himself be dragged along helplessly, feeling as if he were being swept along on some unstoppable tide.

“Try these,” Izaya said, disappearing for one moment and then coming back the next, with a handful of figs gathered in his palm. He smiled up at Shizuo, pleased and warm, and strangely proud. “I planted these when I first came here, and I’ve been tending to it ever since.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Izaya said, and then took one fig in his fingers. He pressed it to Shizuo’s mouth, leaving Shizuo with no choice but to open it.

The fig burst with flavor in his mouth and Shizuo shivered at the sensation of Izaya’s fingertips against his lips.

_What the fuck is going on?_

He had never seen a priest act like this. Was Izaya _flirting _with him? Were priests even _allowed _to do something like that? Shizuo must be imagining it, surely Izaya was just trying to be considerate and make conversation. Shizuo must be reading too much into simple gestures and looks, must be-

Shizuo pulled back, head spinning. Izaya smiled at him again, satisfied, and popped one of the figs into his own mouth.

“How is it?” Izaya asked, and no, Shizuo couldn’t be imagining this, there was _nothing _innocent about that tone of voice, that smile -

“I should go -” he stepped back again. _Fuck_, he was supposed to be _working_, not being caught up in this strange priest’s eyes, not following him around, not imagining things about him that couldn’t possibly be true. “Thank you for showing me around. I appreciate it -”

“No, I’m the one who should be thanking you.” Izaya let the rest of the figs drop from his palm, and swept up both of Shizuo’s hands in his grasp.

Suddenly he was close, far too close, wearing an earnest expression that completely swept away any previous trace of teasing in his eyes, looking far more innocent than he had any right to.

“These are dangerous times, and I’m only able to rest easy knowing that you’re here to protect us. If there’s anything I can do to help, all you need to do is ask.”

_He can’t be serious_, Shizuo thought, staring at those wide eyes, those delicate cheekbones. He was _beautiful_ to look at, and Shizuo could easily imagine crowds of people coming every Sunday just to stare at his face, especially if he looked this earnest and passionate while preaching.

“I will,” he heard himself promising. “If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”

.

The case progressed slowly, and Shizuo was sent back to the cathedral several more times to investigate. The victim was a young man that no one had known, or seemed to be able to identify, and yet he was found on the church grounds.

Shizuo spent days questioning the churchgoers, anyone who might have seen anything or know anything. Usually, by the end of a long day, Izaya would invite him in for a drink.

At first, he had been surprised to find out that priests were allowed to drink, but Izaya had just laughed.

“We have to drink every time there’s a communion,” he said. “We make our own wine from the grapes and fig trees around here. It wouldn’t do for us to get drunk during the ceremony, so we’re allowed to partake every now and then, to build up a bit of alcohol tolerance.”

Then he crowded in against Shizuo’s side, giggling slightly. He put his mouth against Shizuo’s ear, sending a hot shiver down his spine. “The truth is,” Izaya giggled again, “you’ll never find a denser concentration of alcoholics in the entire country. We make far more wine than we will ever use, so when the ceremony is done, we usually drink all of it rather than let it go to waste.”

Shizuo’s head spun. He turned slightly, to fix Izaya with a warning glare. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining this, whatever this was, but it was incredibly unsettling. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” he said. “My office hides entire crates of vodka in the closet.”

Izaya dissolved into more laughter. He was the first priest Shizuo had ever seen that laughed that much, and that openly.

“Have you lived here ever since you were a child?” Shizuo asked, trying to change to a safer topic. He had never heard Izaya make any mention of his parents, or of any family for that matter. He remembered Izaya’s sad smile when he spoke of orphans, and a strange pressure squeezed his chest so sharply that he had to struggle to breathe.

“Yes,” Izaya reached out and traced the shell of Shizuo’s ear with his fingertips. Shizuo froze, and let him, because all of a sudden Izaya was no longer smiling. He looked a little lost in thought. “I was given up when I was six. Usually, a family would give up their youngest, but my family had baby twins. There were too many mouths to feed all of a sudden, and they decided not to split up the pair.”

His mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “I think it worked out better that way,” he said easily. “After all, it would be too sad to live your entire life not knowing that you were one half of a pair, one part of a whole. Ignorance is bliss, some say, but I say it’s a far crueler fate.”

His fingers had moved down to Shizuo’s collar, where they were smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed after the long day. They were surprisingly gentle, and the touch was entirely too light for Shizuo to feel like they were iron weights on his skin, weighing down his breathing and making him feel trapped.

“Izaya...” he started. He was suddenly too aware of the fact that they were alone, in Izaya’s personal quarters. It was too late in the day to be out. He should go home. But then Izaya’s fingers moved to his tie, danced above the edge of his collar, and Shizuo’s words froze in his throat. He stared down at the fringe of Izaya’s dark hair.

He wasn’t imagining this. He _couldn’t _be imagining this -

“Say, what do you think of curing me of my ignorance?” Izaya’s hands traced slowly down Shizuo’s chest, barely making an effort to pretend to be fixing his tie. His fingers felt like they burned a trail across his skin. Izaya, for all of his false innocence, could no longer hide the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. He glanced up at Shizuo through his lashes, and his mouth made a mischievous twist of a smile. There was a gleam in his eyes, and that’s when Shizuo finally knew for sure -

_He’s flirting with me. Fuck! He can’t be serious._

“Izaya, what are you doing?” He tried to keep his tone flat and failed miserably.

Slowly, ignoring his question completely, or maybe answering it, Izaya draped his arms around Shizuo’s shoulders. Their chests pressed against each other, and Izaya was up against him now, warm and inviting. His voice was a low purr in Shizuo’s ear, “I’m just trying something. Why don’t you try as well~?”

Shizuo’s hand was on Izaya’s side before he knew what he was doing. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to do - push Izaya away or bring him closer, but the warmth of Izaya’s body and the small gasp Izaya made decided it. He felt as if something inside him had snapped. Izaya made a surprised sound as Shizuo kissed him, and then his entire body seemed to melt into Shizuo’s arms.

Izaya moaned, and Shizuo had to fight and control himself, to stop himself from reacting too violently. He pushed his hands into the soft folds of Izaya’s dark robes, his mind racing. He had to make Izaya make that sound again, would do anything for it.

For all of Izaya’s teasing, he had not actually expected Shizuo to react like this. In the next moment, he was being picked up, arms tight around his waist, being kissed thoroughly.

Shizuo seemed to have lost all sense of restraint, putting his hands wherever he wished, under all those layers, until they reached skin. Izaya gasped, and then could do nothing but hold on as Shizuo pressed him back against the wall, never breaking his kiss.

“Fuck,” Shizuo gasped. “Are you even allowed to do this? Izaya, you -”

Izaya pressed forward hungrily, as if unwilling to give up kissing, now that he had discovered how amazing it could feel. “It’s fine,” he gasped, in between kisses, in between trying to figure out how Shizuo had made it feel so good. “I say it’s fine, so it’s fine. Please, _don’t stop_ -”

Shizuo had never really understood how someone like Izaya could have ended up a priest, had never understood how fate could be so cruel as to trap someone so beautiful into such a cold profession. But Izaya was anything but cold now, moaning in response to every single touch, eyes warm and inviting, and hands that felt like they burned wherever they touched. He had never seen anyone react like this, as if every sensation was new to them.

_Shit_. Shizuo drew back, his head spinning. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

Izaya laughed breathlessly. “Was it that obvious?”

A rush of heat made Shizuo lean forward, and press a kiss against the side of Izaya’s neck. Izaya shivered, and when Shizuo drew back, his eyes were wide and dark, as he had never even considered the possibility of something feeling _that_ good. His fingers were trembling where they gripped Shizuo’s arms, but it was still a surprisingly strong grip.

“Please be gentle with me~” Izaya teased, but his body moved against Shizuo’s like - _do anything you want with me. I’m yours if you want it._

That promise was more tempting than sin, and Shizuo had never really been the religious type. He pressed his lips hard against Izaya’s.

“I want you,” he whispered. _I’ve wanted you for a while now. _He just hadn’t thought - with Izaya being a priest - that this had even been possible. So many people looked up to Izaya every week, stars in their eyes, imagining him to be this pure, divine thing. How far they were from the truth. Shizuo buried his face in Izaya’s shoulder, unreasonably glad that he was the only one who knew the _real_ Izaya.

.

Later, when they were breathless and shaking, their clothes discarded on a pile onto the floor, and the echoes of heat still singing in their veins, Shizuo held Izaya down against the bed to keep him from leaving.

“Why?” he asked softly. “Why did you proposition me, Izaya?” This sort of thing was forbidden for priests. Shizuo didn’t know much about this religion and didn’t know their doctrine, but he did know this much.

Izaya smiled back at him, easy, as if none of it mattered at all to him.

“I was once told that a future is like the branches of a fig tree,” he said. “And at the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, is a possible future. The Church tells you that salvation only happens if you follow their path, and my teachers said that I could only choose that one, even if choosing one meant losing all the rest.”

Shizuo stared at him, unsettled. He had never paid attention to any of Izaya’s sermons before, but he now wondered if he should have, after all. Izaya kissed him softly. Then, as Shizuo shuddered, he pressed more kisses against Shizuo’s ear, coaxing warmth into his veins, making Shizuo lose track of their conversation.

“I suppose I should have listened to them,” Izaya mused, more to himself than for Shizuo’s ears. “But, alas, I suffer from the sin of greed. If my future is a fig tree, then I’d like to try every fig I can reach. Why stop at just one?”

.

In the dim, candle-lit room, Izaya tapped his fingers against his mouth, lost in imagination, smiling to himself.

He was interrupted by an old, gruff voice, coming from the corner of the room. The figure wore large brown robes, not the traditional color for a priest, but one that marked him out as one of their order all the same.

“Will the policeman be a problem?”

There was a note of genuine fear in that voice, which amused Izaya to no end. That policeman had certainly caused quite a stir, and he hadn’t even realized it, with his handsome looks and his reputation for justice.

“He’s been dealt with,” Izaya said, and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> the idea was inspired by something Kari saw on TV and she spouted a rough AU idea in Note's direction who was then immediately possessed by some mad demon and wrote the entire oneshot in one sitting in like an hour :P  
I am not even joking xD
> 
> and the timing was amazing cause it fits both with yesterday Halloween and today All Saints.
> 
> this is, incidentally, NOT the next big collab we had alluded to at the end of our last fic, The Apple Thief. that one is still a work in progress.  
but lets just say that one and this.... share some common themes ;)  
this was a sorta warm up. a practice run. a sorta What-If prologue.... ;)
> 
> we really hope you like this! this has more plot going on in the background but we decided not to make it longer or add more chapters cause it really was just sorta a short random thing. if you wanna know more about the plot and whats up with izaya and the church you will have to comment and ask ;P
> 
> see you next time! :D


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